Educational Obligations
by zemplit
Summary: New enemies, old enemies, same problems. Peter Parker was almost content retreating into self-imposed social exile after the death of his best friend's father, but continued to race through the sky as Spider-Man, continuing to fight for the city. It was just too bad that the city liked to fight back. Such was the life of Spider-Man.
1. Data Collection

I do now own or claim ownership of _The Spectacular Spider-Man _or related properties.

* * *

Another quiet day. No muggings, robberies, and only a bit of vandalism before Peter arrived, letting the criminals scurry away, frightened by his very presence. He did not find it in himself to be zealous enough to apprehend them on such a petty crime. Better to remind them he existed and was watching than to overstep the vague boundaries he set for himself. If the police chose to arrest and prosecute, that was their business, not his. He usually had bigger fish to fry.

However, New York found itself in a rare restive mood that day. Not even much jeering from the more outspoken activists of the Let's-Hate-Spider-Man Club, which only left Peter even more bored as he went about his patrol; at least they occasionally came up with halfway decent taunts, and airborne banter with the rude New Yorkers of the ground was always entertaining. It felt like he was missing something as Spider-Man if he missed out a chance to insult his opponents on both the physical and verbal field.

It wasn't that he minded the lack of crime; in fact, he was happy that, in his own limited perspective, crime had decreased. He wasn't desperate enough for thrills to wish for crime to happen just to justify the existence of his superhero persona. Just that he felt a little lack of relevance as a crimefighter in a city with what appeared where the central problem begetting his presence appeared in decline. Even the Daily Bugle found it necessary occasionally to comment on his apparent descension from savior to neighborhood patrol. No big threats and only the mundane came out to play, even then in decreasing numbers whether due to the collapse of the competing criminal factions, lack of the smokescreen caused by the various superpowered baddies, or Spider-Man's reputation itself.

_'But_,' Peter thought, reclining on the rooftop ledge of a short brownstone, '_Odds are something is going to happen now that I consciously recognized the absence of the supervillain of the week. The universe always has a way of confirming my suspicions.'_

With a sigh, Peter loosened his grip and slid off the ledge off the building, only to rise above it a moment later as his webline shot and attached to another building, growing taut and throwing him above the city's street. Another webline and Peter established a rhythm and he swung comfortably, almost unconsciously, across the skies of Lower Manhattan.

While Peter most often swung at higher altitudes in order to clear more ground and enjoy the views and thrills such height offered, he now traversed just above street level for two reasons: One, he had found that the sight of him on his rounds deterred most criminals now that he had built up a reputation as New York's most effective law enforcement asset; two, so he wouldn't always be looking up at a sky unblocked by buildings and be reminded of the time when he saw the sun's position. It was still early afternoon and summer had arrived; plenty of time was left to rendezvous with Gwen and Doctor Warren at ESU. Still, with all the misses and near-misses he's had over the past year of heroics, he did not want to enter preliminary panic mode if he found himself late.

No doubt Gwen would forgive him for the slip-up if it occurred, however. Ever since Norman Osborn's funeral, she made many concessions for Peter, and never spoke a word in protest or anger whenever Spider-Man unwittingly intruded on Peter's life and friendship with her. Peter knew why she was acting that way. Guilt always twisted a person's perspective. He wouldn't begrudge her lax attitude if she felt the need to make-up for their broken arrangement. He also wouldn't abuse it.

A minor crack caught his attention, followed by the splintering of wood and footsteps, soft at distance but loud and careless closer by. Spider-Man twisted, launched another webline, and landed, crouched, on the roof. The building was only a few stories tall, rectangular, and the roof smelled of decay, with little punctuating its flat surface.

Peter payed closer attention to his immediate surroundings, the earlier, automatic routine of web swinging fading from his mind. He walked over to and peered behind the small ledge, eyes immediately pulled to a pair of signs on an intersection to his right: Spring and Thompson Street. SoHo. He placed his bag by the ledge, hidden from sight of passerby. He pulled out and gripped his camera in one hand.

A quick jump and Peter landed in the building's adjacent alleyway. Torn pieces of plywood littered the ground beneath a screen door that swayed in the breeze, creaking. Peter peered past the doorway and readied the camera. A dark, dilapidated corridor lay beyond.

_'Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, _Peter thought as he crept into the hallway, easily seeing its dimensions and contours despite the low lighting. _You've just been subject to some confirmation bias, believing that things just happen in response to your thoughts or words.'_ He heard voices up ahead and he slid through another doorway. '_Don't be superstitious. Definitely not the arrival of a new supervillain promised up ahead. You're a man of science, remember?' _He paused for a moment, not picking up anything with his Spider-Sense, and continued forward, relying on the reverberation of the voices along the walls of the hallways to guide him. '_Then again, all of this started when I got impossible superpowers from a genetically-modified spider, not to mention some of the other crazy things I've seen my opponents bring to the field. I don't know, it just seems that science isn't as...science-y as it used to be.'_

The talking and became heated as Peter approached a door, which, once he brought his ear close and listened to the proceedings, appeared to be the one that would reveal his mystery contestants. He gently opened it and, after sensing no change in the room beyond, slid through and immediately began crawling on the wall, idly setting his camera on auto-shoot and webbing it next to the doorway. He quickened his pace and aimed for the ceiling of a...stage?

Peter took a surreptitious glance behind him. The place was an old, abandoned theater. No lights were on but even in the gloom Peter spotted a half-dozen men conversing by the edge of the stage. Several open crates full of weapons and the rising pitch and volume of the voices all led to the conclusion that a trade was occurring and it was going south, fast.

He bit back a groan. His last fight in a theater ended in it getting demolished, and he just happened to stumble into the only abandoned one in Manhattan. It was even in SoHo! Even if it was unprofitable, it should have at least been locked into an endless cycle of bought, refurbished, unprofitable, and sold.

There were old, moth-eaten curtains drawn to either side, centred by a podium resting undisturbed in the middle of the stage. It looked to be wheeled. He examined the seats: most were wooden; rotten and broken, rooted to the floor by rusted bolts. The exits were all open or covered by weak plywood. The upper balcony appeared to have been in serviceable condition, if unsafe for general use.

Gears whirled within Peter's head, pulling at the various strands of his mind, bringing them forth and coalescing with the sights in front of him. A plan formulated, Peter waited, scanning for the slightest irregularity in the proceedings. '_Better for them to have made the trade and then pick them off as they prepare to leave_,' he figured. Least amount of force for the greatest effect. Sound philosophy, if difficult to practice as Peter forced himself to stay still and watch the nuances of the trade below. '_And I thought fighting Montana in a an abandoned theater was going to be a one-time thing. Guess the villains always have to aim for a sense of pseudo-class in their dealings.'_

More conversation, the only part of it that was interesting was the brief mention of Hammerhead. Peter narrowed his eyes. Good ol' steel skull hadn't been thrown into the slammer with the rest of the ensemble of evil at their little opera house scuffle. Kept quiet these past few past few months, never personally involving himself in affairs that would have drawn the attention of Spider-Man or the police. Also managed to avoid Tombstone's wrath if he was feeling confident for this ploy, which was impressive in an odd way. Too bad he just revealed his hand because of a bunch of chatty crooks.

A few more harsh words and a man, the one who invoked Hammerhead's name earlier, shouted and pulled out a...laser? It was compact, adorned with frills and had a design that implied a throwback to the 1950's conception of futuristic weaponry. His compatriots responded in kind, while the other three cursed and pulled out crowbars, knives, with their apparent leader pulling out what looked like a miniaturized naval cannon from one of the crates. Peter studied it: it looked a bit like one of those medieval gunpowder weapons he saw in a museum. He thought it was called a gonne, but it also stirred his memory of something far more recent and personal.

_'Nevermind that,' _Peter thought. '_Action first, introspection later.'_ A twitch of his wrist and the two head mooks weapons were pulled out of their hands by weblines, leaving them momentarily distracted as he detached from the ceiling and landed gracefully on the floor of the stage, though the loud creak produced by his feet denting the wood underneath spoiled whatever element of surprise remained in his arsenal.

Peter checked behind him; the weapons were secure and not easily reachable by the goons below. Excellent. Now if only the same could be said for their other weapons or their fists reaching his face.

"Spider-Man," Crowbar-guy whispered in fear, moving behind his disarmed boss. Knife-guy waved his eponymous weapon in an aggravated matter, but refused to step forward. Raygun-guy 1 and 2 pointed their rayguns at him while their leader tried his very hardest to turn his gaze into a lethal weapon.

"Yep," Peter said, smiling under his mask. "Are you guys here for the auditions as well? I knew the tryouts were going to be tough, but bringing live weapons as props shows a dedication I just can't match, not to mention trying to off each other to remove the competition. I'm afraid I'm going to have to hand all of you off to some very nice men and women in blue just to stand a chance."

The two groups glanced at each other for a moment, before the disarmed leader of ragtag weapon squad peered at Peter and said, "He's even more annoying than the papers say. I say we can deal with this later and kill the Spider now." The others nodded and Peter's Spider-Sense flared up.

He threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding a bolt of yellow energy whistling through the air, tearing and burning through the wall behind him a second later. Peter smelled the trail of ozone it left behind. Seconds later, he dodged another blast and, in irritation, shot out weblines at the rayguns. They both connected and, with a great tug, pulled one out of the hands of a goon, grabbing it out of the air a moment later, attaching with some quick webbing to his side, careful to have the barrel point away from him.

The other, however, was a bit too attached to the weapon and decided getting dragged off his feet and slammed into the stage was preferable to being disarmed. A pity, then, as his weapon got pulled from his now slack fingers anyway.

Two of the more melee inclined mooks made their way up to the stage while Peter studied the weapons in his hands. '_Can't be lasers, the projectiles moved significantly slower than the speed of light. Could they perhaps be plasma? Might explain why the air around them ionized. _Just like the hand cannon, they reminded him of something else. _The projectiles were yellow, which was the trademark of…'_

Peter's Spider-Sense rang, interrupting his thoughts and bringing his attention to the raised crowbar ready to be slammed into his face.

With a sigh, he jabbed his leg out, sweeping the mook's legs out from under him, and less than a second later Peter jumped into the air, grabbed the flailing arm holding the crowbar, pulled himself down and slammed his foot into the mook's stomach, driving the wind out of him in addition to consciousness. The floor groaned. '_Two down. Four to go.'_

Peter dodged the knife flying at the back of his neck a moment later, catching the fist of the disarmed mook who snuck up behind. Bracing himself, Peter tightened his grip and threw the man across the stage and into the seats, breaking several of them in the process.

Knife-guy roared and charged at Peter, who simply waited until he was in stabbing distance once more and grabbed the knife out of the mook's hand faster than he could react. "Now, now," Peter said, kicking the man square in the chest with enough force to send him careening into the curtains, slowing his descent onto the stage's adjoining ramp, "You guys got to calm down. Overacting is just as bad as underacting. Learn to temper your enthusiasm."

_That's four now,_ Peter thought, blocking the fist of the last raygun-guy and apparent leader of that group who tried to sneak up on Peter in his moment of distraction. Peter punched him hard in the stomach, throwing him across the stage and hitting the ground, rolling the last few feet to the back wall. '_Make that five.'_

Peter turned to the last, reluctant to fight criminal. The man was digging through the weapons crate, peeking up only to meet Peter's gaze, causing him to take out and cradle one of the hand cannons, peering inside for something more. '_Oh, yeah. Forgot about the source of these problems. Might want to deal with that.'_

Before the remaining mook could prepare his weapons Peter shot and attached weblines to the weapons crate and, in one, fluid motion, pulled it away from the man, through the air and onto. Peter jumped away from it at the last second, flipped through the air and landed between the crate and the dumbstruck mook below. "I'm sorry, but I have quite the flair for theatrics, a necessary quality for people moving into show business like me. Perhaps you should adopt my keen sense for melodrama as well, my silent and incompetent friend?"

The mook growled and hoisted his weapon, preparing to fire before being caught surprised by the creaking and groaning emitting from under Peter's feet. A rumble that soon turned into a cacophony as the stage collapsed underneath him.

Peter stumbled and, hearing the hand cannon fire, reached out a hand and shot a web towards the ceiling, pulling on it to pull him out of the mess erupting under his feet, comfortably swinging to the balcony at the other end of the room, flinching as the old wood crunched as he landed. He turned and looked at the devastation below, only to dodge a spiked ball a moment later, which sailed past him into the ceiling.

Another, more easily dodged, came a moment later. '_That's why it was familiar. It appears we got an old stash of Gob-I mean, Norman Osborn's- tech. Some of the equipment that was loaned out to the Gob Squads.' _Hammerhead's name crossed Peter's mind once more. '_Looks like he's gearing up for a war. Guess not everyone immediately decided the last remnant of the old guard was worth following. Maybe Tombstone actually recovered a bit from the destruction his wholesome reputation.'_

Before the last mook could fire again, Peter webbed the podium below and gave it a short, hard yank, bracing himself against the balcony railing. The podium swung through the air in a tight arc and the mook only had a second to look back in confusion before the old wooden lectern slammed into him, breaking apart and sending him careening into the ground, dazed. He did not have a chance to respond when Peter jumped down from the balcony, landed in a crouch next to the mook and punched him, hard, in the chest, driving his breath away and leaving unconscious on the floor.

"Well," Peter said, standing up and shooting a webline to retrieve his camera from the doorway, "it was fun, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to skedaddle. I have commitments beyond beating you guys up." Peter cycled through the photos on his camera. "Should be good enough for the jolly one, though they are lacking in the personal humiliation that he so longs to see me endure." With one last glance around the theater, Peter rooted the unconscious forms of the criminals to the ground, taking a few last manual pictures.

Peter checked the weapon attached to his side. '_Never seen this one before. Rather odd design and even odder properties.' _He considered leaving it with the rest of the weapons before sighing and pocketing, clicking what appeared to be its equivalent of a safety. '_I'll give it a bit of study and report my finding to the police. I'm sure Captain Stacy won't mind too much.' _He scrolled through the pictures on his camera one last time, judging their quality. '_Jonah will probably accept them; grumbling, of course, but accept them none the less.'_

Peter pocketed the camera and took an idle look at his phone: half-an-hour until his presence was expected at ESU. He sighed and exited the theater the same way he entered, webbing various spots, culminating in draping the front entrance with his webs, ignoring the surprised cries of nearby pedestrians and the occasional honking of a an appreciative or angry driver. '_There,'_ Peter thought, admiring his work, '_that should alert the police.'_

With a sharp, quick breath, Peter leaped into the air, almost clearing the roof of the theater before releasing the first webline, tugging at it, building forward momentum. Another webline, and he catapulted through the city sky, weaving through buildings, letting hard-won experience and his Spider-Sense guide him safely while he constructed the lie he would most likely have to deliver to Doctor Warren to justify his absence. Again.

"I'm glad I only have to excuse myself for university professors and not criminal overlords like the poor schmucks behind me," Peter said in the rushing wind, pausing to cling to and leap over a building before swinging away once more. "Always helps affirm my decision to be on the good guy's side. Less imminent danger from your supposed allies."

After a moment, Peter snorted and quickened his pace, eyes peeled to the horizon, scanning for ESU's main campus. "Right. Like I can say I'm proud for shying away from danger. It's not like I'm a masked vigilante who beats people up for a living after all." Peter touched the weapon inside of his bag, confirming its presence, and continued to mull over its properties, curiosity winning over the worry for his academic life.

###

Peter found himself scrambling over the rooftops of the ESU campus, eyes focused on the bio-genetics research laboratory whose visage grew clearer as he approached it. He checked his phone once more, ignoring the surprised cries of staff and students below, and gave a relieved sigh. '_No need to fib today,' _Peter thought, smiling as any curious passerbys lost sight of him and he ducked in an alleyway to change. '_Almost makes up for the fact that a new gang war is boiling.'_

Peter walked towards Doctor Warren's research laboratory with minutes with a few minutes to spare, any traces of Spider-Man safely bundled within his bag. '_Summer break has arrived, at least, so it'll be easier to contain Hammerhead and his associates, as well as procuring a bit extra with my photography. It's nice that money-making and crime-fighting correlate so much with each other. Well, occasionally, when the stars align.'_

Gwen Stacy, as per her recent custom, stood outside the doors of the lab, reading a book and waiting for him. Peter grimaced as he made his way up the steps, Gwen still unaware of his presence as she a flipped a page. '_She still feels too guilty. It's turning her into a wallflower.'_

With a light cough, Peter tapped Gwen's shoulder, taking step back when she flinched. She turned to him a second later, blinking. Peter smiled and said, "Gwen, how are you today?"

Gwen closed her book and bowed her head slightly, hiding her face. "I'm fine, Peter. Normal day, not much happening." She glanced over her shoulder, back to the lab. "Just waiting for Doctor Warren to open up. He just instructed me to stay out until further notice and to inform you of the same thing; I guess he's having a meeting or private phone call or something else along those lines."

Peter chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, really? I'm starting to suspect that maybe he just doesn't want to see me and is impressing that on you."

Gwen turned away and leaned against the wall. "That's not too far from the truth, I think."

Peter blinked. "What?"

Gwen shrugged. "He mentioned how he's frustrated by your...infrequent commitment to the internship. Said if you didn't improve soon, he'd remove you from the program."

_'Not too much of a surprise,'_ Peter thought, glancing beyond Gwen's waiting face, for the moment ignoring her need to have a reply. '_Been committing too much of myself to Spider-Man I suppose. Didn't have a relationship anymore, Harry and Gwen have been preoccupied. And...I guess I wanted to distract myself as well. Take my mind off my problems and throw myself into a mask. Even if that mask was the root of the problems to begin with.'_

A blur of motion in front of Peter broke his train of thought and as refocused he found Gwen standing closer, frowning. "You okay, Pete?"

Peter blushed and took an inadvertent step back. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just caught in the contemplation of how I messed up again. Can occasionally be fun if you're willing to laugh at yourself." He smiled and looked around Gwen; Doctor Warren still wasn't in sight.

Gwen tilted her head and raised a brow. "If you say so." She fidgeted slightly. "So, what are you going to do over the break?"

"Oh, the usual. Make a living off taking photographs of a masked vigilante beating people up .Take care of Aunt May and try to reverse the persistent decline of my attendance here."

Gwen rolled her eyes and leaned back into the wall. "You don't have to be so flippant about it." She raised her head and eyes Peter carefully. "Nothing else?"

Peter shrugged and turned toward the door, waiting for a sign of movement. "Nothing in particular unless Aunt May has her own plans she has yet to reveal. I suppose if you and Harry are up to it we could hang out sometime. Unless he is too busy dealing with his regency council again?"

Gwen grimaced. "Well, you know how he's been these past few months and his mom has been a bit overprotective since..." She averted her eyes. "You know."

Peter nodded, scratching the back of his neck, eyes now firmly on Gwen's every movement, trying to glean the truth from every stray gesture. "Of course, of course. Perfectly understandable. I know I wasn't in a particularly pleasant or amiable state when Uncle Ben died." Peter shut his eyes. Old memories and old guilt rose, but he suppressed them.

He opened his eyes again to find Gwen staring at him, eyes critical, brows furrowed. "He's perfectly pleasant right now," she said. "Just fine. The people around him are the ones that haven't been properly supportive or pleasant." She sighed, turning her face away to stare at the concrete below. "I know I wasn't treating him as I should have. Held him as more of a burden than a boyfriend, all because we…"

Peter flinched and, studying her carefully for a moment, placed a solitary hand on her shoulder and said, ignoring the sharp upturn of her startled face, "Don't be so hard on yourself. Harry couldn't ask for a better girlfriend than you Gwen, believe me." Peter retracted his hand and left it dangling, purposeless, by his side. "I guess I shouldn't project myself on others. I've been an outcast most of my life, I shouldn't try to stick my nose in other's business. Couldn't understand."

Gwen raised an eyebrow and Peter laughed and said, "All right, all right. That came out a bit too angsty, but you get my point." His tone softened. "Besides, you were the only one to notice how badly the Globulin Green affected him, and paid heed to his other problems as well. I shouldn't advise you about him, you know Harry better than I do. Than anyone does right now, really. I'm sure you can break open that shell he's built up and we can hang out again, like we used to."

Gwen bit her lip and nodded and stepped away, walking back to the door, stopping in front of it and taking a few odd glances at Peter as he sighed and and leaned against the wall, looking at nothing in particular. She nervously checked her hair and didn't initiate conversation again.

_'Great job, Pete. Tried to cheer her up and just made her more depressed, demonstrating your keen social instincts once again. If only the spider gave me interpersonal powers in addition to super ones.' _Doctor Warren was still holed up inside for whatever reason. Hopefully not a malevolent one. Peter shook his head. '_What am I thinking? Doctor Warren is a respected geneticist and mammalogist. He's never mistreated Gwen or me. I mean, he's often brusque, but that's not something 'Has a secret identity that cripples my relationships' Parker can exactly fault him for. Even if he occasionally gives me the creeps, even is the Conners warned us about him when they abruptly left for Florida. You should be above false accusations by now, Peter.'_

He glanced at Gwen, who stood still contemplating the fine details of the stonework for all Peter could tell. '_And once again, you've ignored her. Made the conversation about Harry and you, cast away her own problems, her own needs and wants. Face it Peter, you've been a lousy friend ever since the bite. Ever since Uncle Ben died and you donned that costume.'_ Regardless, a small smile crept on his face. '_Can't say I regret it though. It's been stressful, but that's a very small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. I know Uncle Ben would want me to keep pushing forward despite the setbacks. Doing the right things in spite of the pain.'_

Gwen took a sudden step back and Peter felt the door start to open. He craned his head to see Debra Whitman's form sliding through the gap, face stoic, voice bland when she said, "Doctor Warren apologizes for the delay. He has informed me to supervise your presence while he attends to urgent business with his associates at Oscorp."

Peter and Gwen shared a look before proceeding into the building, Peter musing for only a few seconds on what constituted "urgent business" at Oscorp for Miles Warren. Peter almost hoped it was activities that justified the suspicion that he could not prevent from creeping into his mind.

###

Peter considered whether to embark on another patrol as idly snapped past another building and raised his hand to shoot another webline. It would certainly at least discourage some petty crime by making a show of his rounds even if he did not personally apprehend any criminals. They either had to be brave, superpowered, or well-equipped, or some unforeseen and terrifying combination for all three to confront him nowadays.

_'Then again,'_ Peter thought, '_my dear friends visiting the fine theater this morning combined the the 'brave' and 'well-equipped' parts. A point for effort and another taken for poor execution.'_

He landed gracefully on an old, disused and boarded-up chimney of a five-story, took a nervous peek around and, not feeling a blip on his Spider-Sense, opened his bag and peered inside, studying the the Green Goblin knockoff energy weapon inside. '_I did want to study this. It might be considered taking evidence but it seems so similar to what Norman used. Was it part of a Gobsquad stockpile found or traded recently? That would be the most logical explanation if not for the fact I've never seen them use one of these before. Then again, my own observations are too small of a sample size to verify that. I need more information.'_

With a click of his tongue Peter slid off the chimney and paced around the roof and set his bag aside after pulling the weapon out. He studied it carefully, taking in its aesthetics, noting its design. _Very overwrought, so definitely conforming to Gobby's style. 'It's also in line with his apparent dislike of conventional weapons. Also, impractical, another quality he endorsed.' _He stopped his pacing for a moment, feeling for any panels or openings on the device. '_All right, let's operate under the assumption that this device is a plasma weapon; doing so will allow me to establish some insight into its operation.'_

After failing to pry any particular part of weapon open without breaking it Peter sat down on the roof, legs crossed. He considered the weapon while rocking it slowly in his hands. '_Let's see, establish the general and move down to the specific...plasma is essentially high-energy ionized gas, the most abundant form of matter in the universe, and what primarily composes stars. In a weapon most of the damage it would inflict, or damage intended to be inflicted, would be the result of heat rather than the standard kinetic energy of most projectiles, though as a form of matter its also capable of delivering some force. Under that assumption, this weapon has to be outfitted with both a potent electrical supply and what I would imagine would be a container of compressed gas, though what element or composition I can't really begin to guess. Maybe if I saw it in action and captured some information on a spectrograph and then analyzed the spectrogram I could determine more.'_ Peter shook his head and laughed, nearly dropping the weapon. '_Or if I just took the gas canister and studied what's inside.'_

Peter stood back up and stretched, squinting at the now darkened sky. '_Aunt May is going to expect me soon and I can better investigate this at home. _He glanced at the weapon dangling in his hand. _Should I though? I probably shouldn't play detective considering that probably all the assumptions I just made were wrong. Taking a criminology seminar with your best friend's dad probably isn't the all-encompassing education I thought it was. Who knew.' _After a moment of contemplation, Peter reached for his bag and dropped the weapon in before slinging it around his shoulder, checking around him once more for possible observers.

A minor alarm sounded in the back of his head, pulling Peter's gaze to behind him, past the rooftops railing and towards one the neighboring buildings. A moment later he saw a slight hint of motion, a contrast in colors jump away from him and ducking behind the walls, shifting away from his sights and back into the night.

Peter considered pursuing, before grimacing and turning around, jumping off the building, spinning through the air before he reached out a hand and activated his web-shooter, shifting his momentum and allowing him to swing back home once a line was established. '_Spider-Sense indicates our observer was a danger, but a minor one. Huh, that's vague. Really got to quantify this little prescience ability of mine.'_

The terrain and urban landscape was shifting gradually to fit the more residential area he was entering; Peter was close to home. _Hopefully by then I will have determined the identity of our guest as well. T'hey were quite fast. Lost sight of them before I could give chase. I really hate the baddies who are at least semi-competent. They actually know a thing or two about subtlety.'_

Seconds later, Peter landed, as lightly as he could, on his house's roof, checking his surroundings. It was surprisingly dark and no one appeared to be be looking in his direction and there was no other indication of anything moving nearby besides the occasional shifting lights of distant cars, so Peter changed into his normal attire, jumping onto the sidewalk a minute later.

_'Now, the most pertinent question is the identity of my watcher_,' Peter thought, slowly walking across his front yard to the front door. '_Given the acrobatic skills I saw they certainly possessed a skill-set above and beyond the normal thugs I deal with.' _Peter narrowed his eyes as he paused before his front door, hand reaching for his keys. '_They wore light and dark colors as well, and they contrasted very obviously from about a block away.'_

Peter found and grasped his keys, but dangled them by his side for a minute. '_Black Cat, perhaps? Haven't seen her since the incident at the Vault and I don't think my Spider-Sense would recognize her as a threat, but I suppose she did kinda-sorta claimed she wanted vengeance. Then again, she only said what I did was unforgivable. Too vague. If only I knew how exactly my Spider-Sense worked. I guess it also could be Doc Ock. His arms are rather dark and last time I saw him he had that fancy white suit, but he's never been afraid to engage me. Plus, he makes a lot of noise when moving through those things. Tombstone is possible as well, but again, not his style.'_

Peter groaned and shook his head. '_Not really getting anywhere with this speculation. It seems just as likely that the observer is some new or undiscovered crook in town who wants to see what Spider-Man is all about.' _Peter glanced back at the door only to discover that is was open and Aunt May was standing before him, concerned.

"Are you okay Peter?" She peered at him through her glasses. "You were standing there silent for a quite a while."

Peter chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, shrinking a bit before Aunt May's inquisitive gaze. "I'm fine, Aunt May, just a bit lost in thought. Busy day, you know?"

Aunt May smiled and stepped back inside, beckoning Peter to follow, closing and locking the door behind him as he stepped foot into the house and soaked in the familiar atmosphere. "I'm sure, dear. Was it taking photographs of Spider-Man once more?"

"Yeah, he got in a fight within an abandoned theater. Now that took a lot of trouble to get proper photos of. Good thing he's so talkative; I could locate the scuffle just by the sound of his voice."

A hand clasped over Peter's wrist and dragged him off to the kitchen. "A bit too close to danger as usual, but you've gotten so used to it I suppose I can't dissuade you from it." Aunt May smiled at him and gestured to the table, Peter blinking at it as he took in the smell of chicken emanating from the other side of the room. "Now why don't you take a seat? I was just about to finish dinner when I checked the front door."

Tempting. Peter glanced across the kitchen again and said, "I'll join you down here in a few minutes Aunt May. Just need to drop off my stuff in my room." Upon seeing her nod, Peter left the kitchen and ascended the stairs, cradling his bag closer to his chest. He ignored the grumbling of his stomach.

Opening the door to his room, Peter sighed as he took in its dirtied state, eyes drawn to the papers strewn across his desk, littered with Lewis dot structures, skeletal formulas, and other standardized chemical notation. All the result to improve his webbing chemical composition. '_Hopefully Aunt May hasn't grown suspicious of anything in here,' _Peter thought nervously, closing the door behind him and setting the bag down, pulling the weapon from it. '_Hate for her to discover what I'm exactly experimenting and researching for.'_

Taking the weapon, Peter carefully examined the room before grabbing a web-shooter and making his way to the bed. Peering under it, he attached the web-shooter to the bottom, out of the way for any form of convenient viewing. Satisfied, he pulled away and hid the web-shooter. '_All right, I'll take a look at it later tonight, though I will have to return tomorrow. Still feel a bit uneasy on having taken it in the first place.'_

Peter stood up and stretched, examining his room once more. '_So many hooks pulling at me today, tearing away at my attention span. Gonna have to sort all of them out eventually, hopefully in a halfway efficient manner.'_

He walked to his desk picked up one of the loose sheets, studying it. '_Why did this one fail again? Let's see...oh, did not handle the transition to an anaerobic to aerobic environment, failed to manifest proper phase transition. Too bad; it's prospective tensile strength looked quite promising. '_Peter sighed. '_I should dust up on my organic chemistry a bit before working on this next time. These polymers are too annoying to design and synthesize otherwise.'_

"Peter?" Aunt May called from downstairs, voice softened by the distance but still loud enough for Peter's sensitive ears to detect. "Are you all right up there?"

"Just fine Aunt May," Peter replied, setting the paper back down and walked out from his room, glancing at it one last, making sure everything was innocuous before closing the door. "I've been looking over some old school work. I'll be down there in a minute." Looking back at the door, ensuring nothing was suspicious, Peter walked downstairs and joined his Aunt for dinner, the worry over the weapons trade and his observer fading as he laughed and joked alongside his surrogate mother before retiring to his room, studying the weapon cautiously well into the night.


	2. Correlation

I do not own or claim ownership of _The Spectacular Spider-Man _or related properties.

* * *

A piercing siren jolted Peter awake, eyes blinking in confusion as he rolled over, slamming his hands to his ears. He squinted in pain, shaking his head, and rolling once more, not realizing he had tumbled off his bed until his head smashed against the floor. That sped up his trek towards cognizance and Peter opened his eyes once more, body tangled in his blanket as he glared at the alarm clock ringing on his bedside table.

Peter stood up with a grimace, covers dropping to the floor as he walked over to the alarm and shut it off, taking care not to break it out of frustration. Little needles started tearing into the back of Peter's eyes, a pained groan escaping his mouth a moment later as he reached down and picked up his covers, straightening before he proceeded to make his bed, grumbling under his breath all the while.

'_Pro tip, Pete. Don't set the alarm for 6:30 in the morning when you work until 3:00 trying to unravel the mystery of the ineffable raygun. Sleep deprivation combined with enhanced senses leaves an unhappy Parker.'_ Peter finished smoothing out the creases and wrinkles in the bed, rubbing his forehead on the occasion it felt like razor blades were scraping his frontal lobes. He checked under the bed; the infuriatingly incomprehensible energy weapon revealed itself for Peter's enjoyment, remaining completely assembled and exalting in its defiance of physical laws as Peter understood them, taunting him to discover its inscrutable secrets.

Peter reached under the bed and easily yanked the weapon out of the webbing that held it, petulant anger and tired disposition rendering him dispassionate to the fact that a large portion of the bed's wooden frame hitched a ride along with it, a sharp snap echoing throughout the house.

A sigh, followed by Peter separating the weapon, the webbing, and the cheap plywood, kicking the extraneous material under his bed. '_Another tip; increase control over strength while under duress or an unfavorable psychological condition.' _He glared at his bag sitting by the door, trying to spontaneously develop x-ray vision just so the web-shooters within would be properly chastised. '_And I was thinking that increasing the duration of the web-fluid was an excellent idea; clearly a priority before improving its other physical properties. Just another example of my genius foresight.'_

Peter took a quick shower, followed by a rushed and quite painful tooth brushing session. Rinsing out his mouth, while rubbing his jaws, Peter took a few tablets of aspirin and gulped them down. He returned to his room and dressed, counting the seconds until the blessed relief was gifted to his aching head and blinked at the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Grabbing his bag, Peter sighed in relief as his head cleared and his thoughts returned to something that resembled coherence. '_Granted, its a temporary measure and I will most receive a full migraine at the worst possible opportunity, but eh. I'm used to it by this point.' _Peter slid the weapon in his bag and checked the room once more; his failed schematics and formulae still laid on his desk, their very existence and continuous presence mocking his devotion to improving his creation, his masterwork. Then again, half of his enemies broke the webbing with ease, which was a worse mockery than any ruinous experiment could have, so that softened the blow to his self-esteem.

Somewhat, at least.

He never bothered hiding them. Aunt May, bless her heart, wasn't exactly the most keen scientific mind around and from the few times she mentioned the papers it was in the context of the rest of his body of work, likely believing them to be lab reports, research projects, or basic review; the standard science class workload. Seeing as Gwen hadn't visited the premises in months, that eliminated any potential suspicion with any of his family or friends.

Not that he was in an abundance of either of those at the moment.

Peter exited his room and walked downstairs, pausing as he heard typing. _Aunt May I'm assuming?_ He quickened his pace, reaching the last step in seconds, and peeked around the corner. Just as Peter predicted, Aunt May was hunched over their old desktop near the living room TV, typing into a word processor, occasionally glancing at handwritten notes in her lap.

A light cough, followed by a smile caught Aunt May's attention, turning her around in mid-sentence to examine the sheepish Peter standing at the foot of the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder. He noticed some light shadows under her eyes as she squinted at him over her glasses.

'_Looks like I'm not the only one who had a late night, but I wonder what…,'_ Peter thought, as he approached Aunt May, searching his memory. '_Wait. She did mention writing a new cookbook last Thanksgiving.'_

"Good morning Aunt May," Peter said, peering at the monitor, taking in the formatting and writing. "What are you writing?"

"Good morning to you too, Peter." Aunt May turned back and continued typing. He noticed her hair looked rather undone compared to her usual style and she slouched a bit more than usual while sitting. "I'm just typing up the entries for my new cookbook. Have all my notes compiled here." She yawned loudly, stretching back into her chair. Peter maneuvered to her side and glanced at her, concerned. "I had a bit of a later night. I figured after you went up to your room I would get a bit of writing done, but I guess I got a little carried away." She chuckled and shook her head, laughter ringing clear in the quiet room. "Imagine my surprise when I woke up an hour ago! Only five hours of sleep for me." She smiled wryly, looking back at Peter over her shoulder, eyes bright. "Thankfully I don't need that much sleep these days." She clicked her tongue. "You don't that excuse yet, Peter."

A flush spread across Peter's face, followed by a low laugh and a hand scratching the back of his head as he leaned against the desk. "Well, would anything I say convince you that I had a full, restive night's sleep."

Aunt May shook her head, still smiling.

Peter's grin turned a smudge apologetic. "Would you believe if I said I just got a little carried away on some extracurricular activity?"

Another laugh and Aunt May went back to typing, eyes tearing away from peter back to the monitor. "I can certainly believe that, knowing your past." She held up a hand, forestalling Peter's reply. "It's fine, Peter. You're a young man now. I'm not going to harry you too much, especially now that summer break started. I'm certain you had a good reason."

Relief flooded Peter's face. "Thanks, Aunt May." He stood straight and took a few steps to the side. "You know how I get with my science projects. Once I'm baited, I'm hooked."

Aunt May shook her head, looking at one of the notes scattered across the desk. "Of course, of course. I Imagine you're going to deliver your photos to Mr. Jameson today? Spider-Man always seems to excite those news people."

"Only when they have my photos and eyewitness testimony," Peter joked, patting his bag. His camera shaked inside, alongside a few accessories and the energy weapon responsible for his weary state. '_That's why he still excites them, still dazzles them,'_ Peter thought, casting a stricken glance at his bag before straightening his expression and turning back on Aunt May, hoping she did not catch the expression on his face. '_If they knew the full truth, if they knew how much I failed Harry and his father, then I wouldn't be such a sensation. Wouldn't be the Daily Bugle's edge anymore.' _He almost laughed, a strangled chortle nearly escaping his mouth. '_And I forgot just how much of a personal connection I have to the Goblin. I just wanted to figure out what was going on. Satisfy my curiosity and help the city.'_

The clicking stopped and Peter cocked his head around to find Aunt May shutting off the computer and gathering her notes. "Peter, would you be a dear and grab the paper out front? I'll prepare the leftovers in the fridge so you can get a full breakfast before reporting to Mr. Jameson."

Peter glanced through the windows. People started gathering on the streets, bright sunlight rendering their forms highly visible as Peter blinked and shielded his eyes. '_Guess it really is summer. Normally it would still be near-dark when I got up to shower and eat.' _"Sure Aunt May," Peter said, walking forward and setting his bag, by the door, mind almost caught once more by the jingle of the items within.

Walking out, Peter grabbed the paper, noting the date at the top as he glanced across the front page, eyes drawn to the headline:

_BRAZEN ROBBERY OF BROOKLYN BANK! _

Below that read:

_Ten million US dollars reported stolen, one guard in critical condition after shootout with perpetrators. _

Reading over the rest of the page, mouth slowly pulled into a frown, Peter thought back to Norman Osborn's death. An accident, unintended, yet Spider-Man, no, Peter Parker was unable to stop it. Was unable to save his best friend's father, unable to stop the massive shrinkage of Oscorp's assets in the fallout, unable to stop his Harry from turning against his alter ego.

Unable to save a life.

'_Harry did claim that Norman was a victim,'_ Peter thought, settling the paper between his arm and torso and walking back into the house, immediately smelling and hearing the myriad processes of Aunt May's cooking and reheating. '_Norman claimed the opposite, that his use of Globulin Green did not amplify his negative tendencies, that consuming it a controlled fashion only gave him the superhuman capabilities required to be the Green Goblin.'_

Peeking around the corner, Peter watched as Aunt May hummed, preparing a few pancakes while keeping her eyes on the microwave. '_Then again, Norman probably wasn't the most objective judge of his behavior, what with the whole supervillain theme.'_ Peter swiveled his head back around and rested against the wall, barely aware as he slowly slid into a sitting position. '_Would explain the inexplicable nature of the weapon, I guess. It is the work of a mad genius.' _Peter glared sullenly at the bag that layed still, crumpled to the floor by the door. '_Then again, I don't actually know if he built it. Yeah, inductive reasoning states that it is most likely his, but that still isn't absolute proof and it doesn't bring me any closer to understanding its properties.'_

The paper slid from his arm and settled on the floor, pages swaying in the slight air currents in the room. The headline remained and, unbidden, a sliver of something that felt like guilt entered Peter. He couldn't have known, couldn't have stopped it in his ignorance, but his thoughts had fickle lately, and his mood always soured whenever his mind turned back to the Osborn family. There was nothing he could have done.

_But I should have done something. 'If only I had more time, less duties, less responsbi-_ 'Peter closed off that line of thought and breathed in, air rushing through his nose and escaping his mouth as he distracted himself, broke off the bittersweet temptation that threatened to entice him and, once it sunk its claws in his flesh, never let go.

'_With Great Power comes Great Responsibility, I know, but I also have a responsibility to my friends and family. And to myself.' _Peter frowned. '_Don't I? If I could devote more of myself to Spider-Man, improve my skills and equipment, sacrifice more… but is that what Uncle Ben would have wanted? Just because I have the power, should all of my responsibility be to the city, to always protect, to destroy what's left of my personal life to defend it?'_

Peter felt a touch of fear enter him when he could not find an immediate answer to that question.

'_Is it selfish of me to not be Spider-Man full time? I could stop more crimes save more lives. All I would have to do is discard Peter Parker.'_ A green flash entered the forefront of his recollection, followed by an unmasked face and a glider, carrying a man into his own trap, all control over the device sabotaged by Peter's intervention. '_More time to save lives, huh.' _Even the monsters he managed to save. A life was precious, and the continuity of such beyond his ability to judge, his ability to decide. Even Flink Marko understood that in the end, understood that it was the most important thing to consider, above reproach and greed.

Peter tried to save people, even the monsters. Always held back his blows against those who could not withstand his full strength, strived to disarm and subdue than injure or kill. Never went that extra step, never ventured on that path of no return. Never became a murderer, didn't even take his revenge on Walter Hardy in his fury and sorrow. Peter saved him when he could have let him die, even though he murdered Uncle Ben.

But Peter couldn't save Norman Osborn.

Back creaking, Peter stood up, newspaper trailing in his hand as he walked into the kitchen. '_I'm far from perfect, but I can't let myself be swayed so easily by that failure. I have share of the responsibility, I know, but that doesn't mean that Spider-Man should stop helping the city. I won't ever be the perfect hero, but that's a given; it's an ideal to strive for, not a goal to be achieved. That doesn't mean I won't learn from my mistakes.'_

Peter nodded to Aunt May and sat down by the table, patting the paper down on it, taking care not to disrupt the utensils and decorations resting upon its surface. '_That's the biggest lesson to be learned: take more care and pay more attention. Improve using whatever source you have.'_

Aunt May was evidently done with her cooking, as she started piling pancakes, bacon, and a variety of leftovers of plates. Peter stood up and walked over, assisting her with some of them and earned a smile for his trouble, before the settled their meal on the table and sat down, Peter eating while Aunt May took a look through the paper, resting in her chair.

A few minutes later, she asked, looking up and setting the paper down by her plate: "Peter, were you reading the paper while you waited for me to finish?"

Mouth full of food, Peter took his time to swallow and sip his glass of milk before replying. "Yes. The headline just jumped out at me." Not a lie, which made it easier for Peter to say those words with a straight face.

Aunt May studied his face for a moment, hands idly picking up a few utensils, before a look of realization spread across her features. "Ah, because you're so used to these incidents even since you became Spider-Man's private photographer?"

Peter nodded. "Right." A frown appeared on his face and he set his utensils down before asking: "Why did you want to know Aunt May?"

Aunt may laughed and shook her head, smiling at Peter's expression. "Oh, don't take my interest that seriously Peter. You've just been so subdued ever since Harry had that horrible incident with his father. Lost so much of your energy and passion, at least from what I've seen and what you're willing to show." She patted Peter's hand, the gesture comforting. "You've also been a bit out of it these last few days, always lost in thought. Probably contemplating some science mumbo-jumbo I couldn't figure out for the life of me." She pulled her hand back and waved to the paper, smile soft. "Though I don't need to be a genius to figure out what caught your attention this time. It reminds you of Spider-Man and he always interested you. You've been interested in crime in general ever since Captain Stacy was kind enough to provide that criminology elective at your school."

Staring down at his plate, Peter considered her words and frowned as he looked back up at her. "Aunt May, what do you think of Spider-Man?"

She paused, hand gripped on a knife slicing apart one of her pancakes as she turned and looked at him. "What brought this on?"

Shrugging, Peter replied, "Not much, just a bunch of smaller things piling up." Unbidden, he found that a smile appeared on his lips. "I've just been in an odd mood recently. Before, I never particularly cared what people thought of Spider-Man. He was a hero to me, simple as that. But ever since a few incidents over the past six months or so, I've just been wondering if he is as good as he could be. He does great things for the city, but I'm starting to feel he could be so much more." He chuckled and looked back down at his food, occasionally glancing back at Aunt May as he continued, "Like I said, I've been in a funny mood, so I think another perspective could help me sort out my thoughts."

Aunt May smiled and ate for a few seconds, chewing her food and swallowing before saying, "I'll answer your question Peter. I was just curious over why you chose to now. Is this why you've been so lost in thought these past few days?"

With an embarrassed nod, Peter looked back up to Aunt May, face flushed. "Pretty much. The petty philosophical conundrums of youth, huh?"

Laughing, Aunt May waved off his concerns. "It's fine, Peter. Goodness knows I started questioning my idols at your age. It's just part of growing up; you learn to consider everything, but both good and bad, a bit more carefully." She set her utensils down and leaned forward. In a faux-conspiratorial whisper, she asked, "Now let's do a trade: I ask your question and I get to cash in a favor. Deal?"

Peter laughed and nodded, returning to his food as he watched Aunt May prepare her thoughts, looking at nothing in particular.

With a small smile, she said, "Well, I'll begin with what I personally know. You remember the unfortunate incident last Autumn that forced me to visit the hospital?"

Peter nodded with a wince. The memory of her heart attack and the aftermath flooded his mind and he forced himself to pay attention to her subsequent speech.

"I remember going to the theater with Anna Watson, just readying our tickets to enter, while there was this massive commotion occurring in Times Square. Moments later I saw Spider-Man fighting that group of supernatural hooligans-I remember the papers called them the Sinister Six-and it was one-sided. This was back when Spider-man donned that odd black costume of his. I don't remember much of the fight but the shock," Aunt May paused to shiver, "gave me that poor heart attack. I remember reading that later Spider-Man managed to escape and beat the Sinister Six all by himself later in the night."

Peter sat quietly, trying to reconcile her account with what he remembered.' _I certainly remember what happened in Times Square.' _A flash of guilt entered him. '_I didn't even know Aunt May had a heart attack that day. I was just angry and tired, and I wished that when I woke up that the Sinister Six problem would be solved.'_ He sighed, examining Aunt May as she sat quietly, eating as she considered her next words. '_And the symbiote granted that wish, taking over control of my body and defeating the Six singlehandedly.'_

"But what struck me the most," Aunt May said, eyes drawn to her plate and a faint smile dancing on her lips, unable to see Peter's gaze be rejuvenated and his interest once more focused on her, "was his strength. Not just physical strength, though he was certainly not lacking in that, but the strength of his commitment. Even when clearly outmatched, he fought on, only retreating so he could rest and prepare to confront them once more." A small, short laugh rang out of her mouth and she looked up at Peter and held his gaze, eyes firm. "It took me a while since then, a bit of reflection and introspection, but I believe I now understand why you follow him, support him through good and bad, through thick and thin. Because, in that moment, I saw how much he was willing to give for the city, how much he was willing to fight no matter how hurt he was, and how he stood brave even in the face of that which would make most of us crumble to the ground."

A moment of silence passed the room and Peter could hear the sounds of the early morning commute, punctuating the ticking clock Peter remembered in the living room. He stared at his hands and asked, voice quiet, "I see you've spent quite a lot of time thinking about this." He glanced up, trying to ignore the passage of time for a moment. '_Jonah can wait for a little while.'_

Aunt May's smile turned a touch wry. "Well, he is not the type of person you are likely to forget anytime soon." She waved her hand, the gesture lazy, the smile becoming a little fuller. A little happier. "Well, you've heard me prattle on for long enough, so I'll answer your question a bit more succinctly. Despite some of the negative press, Spider-Man is a hero, through-and-through. Is her perfect? Of course not, but that doesn't mean he's anything less for it. The city is better for him and I'm just sad it took me this long to realize it."

The table grew silent once more as Peter considered that answer, turning it around in his head, examining it from whatever perspective he could drag from the recesses of his mind. After a minute of introspection, Peter noticed Aunt May had continued eating but was watching him, face a bit troubled. Peter shook his head and smiled. "Thank you, Aunt May," he said. "I'll remember to tell Spider-Man that the next time he deigns talk to me."

They finished their meal in a comfortable, companionable silence. Peter took and cleaned their dishes when they were done while Aunt May returned to her workstation, the noisy clacking of typing adding a tempo to Peter's work as he scrubbed, washed, and dried.

Once he had finished, Peter dried off his arms and walked out into the living room, pausing once he reached Aunt May. When she stopped her work and looked up at him, Peter asked, "By the way, what was that favor you wanted from me?"

"Oh, nothing too serious," Aunt May said. She turned back to the monitor and gestured in its direction. "I was just hoping you would review my work when I was done? I remember I had to revise my last cookbook a few times before a publisher accepted it and let their editors touch it. I recall that you used to be relied on by your teachers to edit your classmate's work, so…"

Peter shook his head and smiled, waving off any further words from Aunt May. "It's fine, Aunt May. I'll be happy to do it." He walked to his bag and slung it around his shoulder. He opened the door. "I'll see you later Aunt May."

"All right. Remember to call me if you're longer than a few hours!"

The door closed and Peter glanced up and down the street and listened; the street was deserted, only the occasional leaf dancing on the wind and the sound of traffic further in the neighborhood to remind him that he was in urban civilization.

Peter scrunched his eyebrows. It was quiet. Generally there was more activity, more movement and energy to characterize the area. '_It is the first weekend of summer break. Guess I'm just so used to being holed up in the house that I never really noticed. Even last summer, I was more preoccupied with my powers than anything else; maybe it just slipped my attention.'_

Another glance and Peter ducked into the alleyway adjacent to his house and prepared to slip into costume. A rumble distorted his hearing, pulsating, warning him of a small threat to his side.

With a sharp creak, Peter turned and glanced at his neighbor's house and reversed changing his attire, letting his body once more become comfortable with his more casual wear. The door opened and Peter received the impression of red hair and striking green eyes before he realized the nature of his predicament.

Mary Jane Watson stepped out onto the front porch, only noticing Peter as he walked out of the alleyway and back onto the sidewalk, a sheepish grin on his face. Embarrassment lining his features, he waved at her. "Good morning, Mary Jane."

Raising her eyebrows, Mary Jane walked to Peter and stood before him, studying him. "What's got you so flustered Tiger? And why were you in that alleyway?" She tilted her head. "Oh, and hello Pete."

Peter glanced around her and back into the alleyway, his dream of changing into Spider-Man and swinging to the Daily Bugle crushed by the inquisitive and inconveniently-timed arrival of the teenager in front of him. "I just needed to check something in my bag real quick and I didn't want to bother Aunt May right now." Upon seeing Mary Jane's raised eyebrows, he said, "She's busy writing another cookbook. I feel like I distracted her enough this morning."

Mary Jane's eyes lit up in understanding and a soft smile spread across her face. "I remember my Aunt Anna telling me that your Aunt May published a cookbook before. I didn't know she would be working on another one." She looked at Peter's house, posture loosening.

A blush settled on Peter's face as Mary Jane seemed lost in thought for the moment. He was thankful for whatever thoughts transfixed her at the moment. Despite all the relationship troubles with Gwen and Liz and Mary Jane personally setting her foot down on anything deeper than friendship, Peter still found her alluring. It didn't help that gentle moments like this seemed to bring out the best of her, granting her an air that Peter admired.

_Remember, Pete, it's only fine if you keep it at 'admiring.''_ Peter frowned shook his head clear of any stray, misguided thoughts. Liz hadn't properly talked to him since their break-up and he couldn't describe his relationship with Gwen if he tried. Now was definitely not the time to be attracted to Mary Jane again. '_Maybe I should just take a vow of celibacy. That would certainly sort out this whole mess.' _A pause, Peter staring blankly at the side of his house, barely noticing Mary Jane's smile shrink. '_Well, at least until something cataclysmic forces me to break it for whatever reason. Those type of things are inevitable by now, really.'_

Mary Jane pulled her gaze away and laughed, the noise tearing Peter from his thoughts. "Guess I don't people as well as I thought." She frowned, eyes cast downward.

And now Peter felt like a jerk for thanking whatever thoughts distracted her earlier. He sensed the subtext of what she said. Mark Allen was a sensitive topic, a sentiment that grew since the attempted prison break and the failed attempts to revert his condition. Peter was sure that the news of his breakup with Liz did not endear himself to her troubled brother and Peter was almost glad that he was absent the days Mark was brought into ESU for attempted rehabilitative treatment.

Seeking to break her current train of thought, Peter said, "You know my Aunt fine. I didn't even know she was working on a novel until this morning; she's a bit subtle about these types of things." Peter smiled, hoping to beguile a similar result out of Mary Jane. He gestured back to Anna Watson's house. "Are there any secrets your Aunt has been up to that would demand your presence today? Or were you just as in the dark with her as I was with mine?"

Mary Jane shook her head, a light laugh caressing the air as her eyes brightened and her gloom subsided. His joke wasn't very funny, but she seemed eager to take the bait. "Nothing so dramatic. She doesn't have quite the same subversive behavior," she paused and her lips quirked, "or the same commitment to the arts your aunt has. I just wanted to meet with her for a bit and discuss a few things."

Peter raised an eyebrow. '_Not very descriptive. Then again, it's not my place to pry. But I was also willing to spill the beans when she inquired. Well, she didn't actually ask that much; I only wanted to come up with a sufficient excuse.'_ He shrugged. '_Not a very big deal anyway._'

His curiosity was sufficient to convince Mary Jane to elaborate, however. "I wanted to share some good news with her." She reached into her pockets and pulled out a form, dressed in a letter adorned with a broken seal. "Based on Mr. Devereaux letter of recommendation, I've entered a summer theater program."

A wide grin split Peter's face. "Really, MJ? That's amazing news." Peter remembered that Mary Jane was only average in academics, but heard Liz occasionally rave about her enthusiasm and talent for acting, apparently delivering an outstanding performance in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. He ignored the tiny bit of guilt and regret that started festering as he recalled Liz's commitment to the theater program. "Have you told Gwen yet? I'm sure she'd love to know."

Mary Jane shook her head and started idly walking down the sidewalk, Peter watching her for a moment before following her and matching her pace. "No, unfortunately. I'm just waiting for a good opportunity." Her eyes wandered the cracked sidewalk below. "Unfortunately, there are very few good opportunities with her lately. She's become more withdrawn and quiet, just like she was when I first met her. She's always distracted and a bit stressed, I feel. I haven't been able to engaged her one-on-one for quite a while on any topic, let alone broach the subject of my summer program." She gave Peter a knowing look as they paused at an intersection, waiting for the lights to shift. "She only has time for you and Harry nowadays."

The lights turned and they walked down the crosswalk, Peter only offering a shrug to Mary Jane along the way. He didn't know what to say in response. How could her answer her when he did know what to do himself? Peter figured that it was best to let the matter lie and tried to ignore his personal feelings on the matter.

Reaching the other sidewalk and still following Mary Jane's seemingly arbitrary path, Peter decided that a change of subject was in order. He didn't want to drag down Mary Jane's good mood because of the awkward relationship he found himself involved in. "So what exactly are you doing in this summer program of yours?"

A smile settled on her face as they continued to walk. "I'm not entirely sure what _exactly_ we're doing. I only have the info the brochure and Mr. Devereaux. I do know," she said with a frown," that our first production is going to be _The Merchant of Venice._"

Peter glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He avoided the curious stare he would have usually given in reply. "Is there a problem with that play?"

Mary Jane shook her head, sighing as she stopped and sprawled on a city bus stop, Peter taking in the destinations on the nearby sign. '_This is probably why she went on this walk. Wanted to go home after meeting with her Aunt but got a little engrossed in her conversation with me.'_ Peter joined her on the bench, studying Mary Jane as she collected her thoughts.

"There's nothing wrong with that play in general," she said after a while. Her eyes were focused on the opposing side of the street, looking at nothing in particular. "It's just, well, It's a combination of little things that I'm sure you wouldn't care about…"

Peter gestured her to continue.

"Well, it's a bit petty, but the major reason I'm upset is that its a Shakespearean play," she admitted. "I know they're iconic, but I just wanted a bit of diversity. No dedication to any one person's work. I mean, there are plenty of other playwrights to use, like Aristophanes, Marlowe, or Kōbō Abe for example."

Only half those names Peter recognized and he had the inkling that the information only settled in his mind due to World History rather than English literature. The more rigid and scientific of the humanities appealed to him more. Mary Jane clearly held the opposite sentiment. _Is that her only complaint though,_ Peter mused, peering at her with his head turned to the street in front of him. She was flustered and awaiting a response, eyes nervously pulled to him and retracted every once in a while. _To my admittedly limited knowledge, she's only ever performed one play by the most famous and influential writer in the English language. A bit too early to be clanging for diversity I think._

"Well," she said, nudging a bit, turning to Peter in full. "There I another reason, actually." She leaned in, Peter blinking rapidly as her face stopped less than a foot away. "_The Merchant of Venice _is a bit of a controversial play." Her voice was low and conspiratorial. "Due to certain..._themes_ and elements, it's not often played like it was intended to be."

"Like it was intended to be?" Peter asked, backing up a bit. Last thing he needed right now was for anybody in the neighborhood getting ideas when Mary Jane was being oddly subdued. Refocusing on her question, he searched his memory briefly. "The play was originally a comedy, right?"

Mary Jane nodded. "Right. That's the reason it's kinda controversial, actually. A lot of it is outdated and it tends to be played as more of a tragedy nowadays." She grimaced, pulling back and reclining into the bench. "That's the reason I'm worried, actually. The manager of the program is a bit of a traditionalist and wants us to be on the straight and narrow when it comes to our performances."

"Is that a bad thing?" Peter asked, lacing the fingers on his hand. '_I really have aimed for what was sufficient for an A+ in Literature.' _He might have actually been able to communicate with Mary Jane on a reasonable level had that been the case. "I mean, when you're engaging in a creative work of some sort it's best to keep it as close to the creator's vision as possible, right? Do the most justice to what it was intended to be?"

"Not really," Mary Jane said. "It's just not something to follow absolutely. People change with the times, old attitudes are crushed and old ones arise. Why should our interpretations of the characters of the past should not change as well as our views on any myriad number of topics shift in t the present? Should we adapt ourselves for a work or should the work of art be forced itself to us?"

The low rumble of a big engine caught their attention, swiveling their heads to peer at the arriving bus. Several people arrived to await their entrance, clutching passes and change in their hands.

"That's my ride," Mary Jane murmured, stepping up from the bench, smiling as Peter as he followed her action. "Sorry for my faux-philosophizing there, Pete. Thanks for listening." She walked toward the now the open door of the bus, waving behind her as she did so. "So long, Tiger."

Waving back, Peter checked his phone. Still early morning. Plenty of time to deliver the pics to Jonah. He usually waited until noon after receiving word of a crime stopped by Spider-Man before bluntly asking Peter to come to his office. On that schedule, there would plenty of time left to patrol in the afternoon.

Provided, of course, that he actually informed Aunt May of that decision like he said he would. He didn't fancy himself as the suicidal kind of brave, after all.

And upon contemplating an afternoon patrol, Peter realized he had still yet to don his costume. Grumbling, he went out to find a convenient hiding spot. It was nice talking to Mary Jane, but he had been so involved in his conversation that he actually followed her to a bus stop, completely forgetting the reason he had ducked into an alleyway to begin with.

'_That's the Amazing Spider-Man for you,'_ Peter thought, mind wandering once more. '_Regularly combats all the super-criminals New York can throw at him, gets distracted talking to a pretty girl. Hopefully they never figure out my one weakness.' _Peter frowned. '_Unless they're Black Cat, then they totally know your weakness. I just had to get on her bad side too.'_

With a sigh, Peter continued looking for place to change into costume and mused on just how odd his relationships had become.

###

Even as Peter stepped out of the elevator, (deciding that it was too much trouble to sneak in as Spider-Man) the cacophony so characteristic of J. Jonah Jameson's managerial style unsettled Peter for a brief moment before experience settled in and steeled his nerves.

His ears as well, as Peter stepped it and briefly surveyed the premises, spotting Betty Brant walking in his direction and Ned Lee, Robbie Robertson, and the jolly one themselves holed up in the back office, the closed door and glass walls unable to contain the stupendous volume of Jonah's indoor voice. God forbid he decided to start yelling. It took quite a while for Peter to focus his hearing on other stimuli and even then it was not often sufficient.

"Peter," Betty said, smiling as she stopped in front of him, clutching a clipboard to her chest. "How are you today?"

Frederick Foswell stepped out of the elevator, politely nodding to Peter and Betty as they moved out of his, and any other further arrivals, way. Peter took his time to answer Betty's question as watched Foswell enter Jonah's office.

"I'm fine," Peter said, smiling as he turned back to Betty. "Not much has changed. Just have a lot more free time on my hands now. How about you?"

"Pretty good," Betty said, walking away, Peter following her as she proceeded to her desk. "Paper sales have been a bit down but it hasn't affected our pay yet. Apparently the Bugle's starting to make decent money off of website ad revenue." She settled down in her chair and rifled through her desk. "Jonah should be done and ready to meet you in a few minutes, which is convenient for me."

Peter raised his eyebrows as Betty pulled out a small slip of paper, setting down in front of him before checking her computer monitor. "An admirer of Spider-Man requested a meeting with you; left some contact information on the paper. Apparently wants to discuss your photography," she said, peering over her monitor, eyes mischievous. "She was a pretty, too. I'd recommend taking her up for her offer, Peter."

The information on the paper was not immediately visible and Peter ignored it for the moment. "Betty, I thought we didn't allow people to see me about photographs ever since an angry ungulate smashed up the place looking for me and an astrobiological broke into Mr. Jameson's office and tried to smear my good name?"

Betty waved a hand, grimacing. "I know, I know. I just thought that...considering all the trouble your Aunt told me about over the past few months that you just might want to meet someone new, outside of your social circle. Just an acquaintance." She lowered her head. "Sorry, Peter, I thought…"

"It's fine," Peter said , taking the note and stuffing it into his pocket, unwilling to look at it for the moment. In a softer voice, he said, "Thanks for the concern Betty, but you don't have to look out for me. I'm almost seventeen now." Peter paused and winced. "Well, seventeen sounded like an impressive and responsible age in my head, at least."

Betty laughed, covering her mouth with one hand as she gestured at him with the other. "Uh huh. You're certainly striking me as the accountable young adult now Peter." She put her hands down and smiled and said, voice softer, "Though you've been a part of the Daily Bugle for so long now it can be easy to forget you're just a teenager." She looked back down to the monitor and began typing. "You're pretty good at separating your professional and private lives now. Without your Aunt to remind me I'd probably forget that you're Peter Parker the student in addition to the photographer."

Noticing how Betty appeared eager to dip into her work, Peter took that last remark of hers as an exit. He approached Jonah's office and frowned as he noticed that a conversation was still held inside. As per usual, it spilled into the surroundings, but Peter, having no particular desire to eavesdrop, simply leaned against the nearby wall and awaited his turn.

The workplace was still smelt of burnt coffee and the mild din that accompanied numerous people typing and chatting was rather annoying, mostly for the fact that it reminded Peter that he didn't have much to do.

He glanced back at Betty, who seemed quite engrossed in her work. '_Should I be worried that she and Aunt May are still in contact,' _Peter wondered. '_It's a bit distressing considering the only reason the two know each other was because I was trying to take Betty out to the prom.'_

While Betty did just spill the beans, Peter found himself a tad annoyed by the fact she and Aunt May were still in contact and apparently talked about him every once in a while, if Betty's comments were any indication. Peter knew that it was a bit hypocritical to hold that against considering how much he withheld from her and just about everybody else, but that did little to mitigate his irritation.

Was he even really upset about this in particular? Or was the only reason he found himself a touch angered was by the fact he knew that his annoyance was a symptom of something greater? He always felt a little torn up by the fact he always had to lie and hide his secret from others. He always disliked the intrusion Spider-Man represented on his personal life.

'_Would I really be upset simply I see a very faint resemblance in those situations?' _Peter thought. '_No, it can't be. Shouldn't be. Better to be selfish and wish more out of Aunt May than you deserve than to have Spider-Man influence the very way you look at the world and interact with others.'_

Still, Peter wondered.

The office door creaked open, the sound muffled and consumed by the ambient atmosphere of the workplace, the only noise from the now quiet office.

Peter pushed off from the wall and saw Ned Lee exit the doorway, followed by and whispering to Robbie Robertson and Foswell. Said conversation halted when they spotted Peter walking up to the doorway, with Ned moving out of the way and nodding to Peter while Robbie held open the door, a polite smile on his face. They gave no verbal greeting and said nothing to punctuate the unusual silence that settled within.

Stepping inside, the door closing behind him, Peter surveyed the office. One of the famous corner rooms of the building, it offered a good view of the streets and Manhattan skyline. The smell of burnt coffee was strongest here and reminded Peter of the standard publisher's office he saw on TV when combined with the assorted newspaper clippings on the walls.

J. Jonah Jameson himself sat languid in his chair, one foot on his desk as he held and examined a framed photo, his other hand propping up his chin. His eyes seemed a bit distant and Peter, remembering the content of most of the newspapers hanging on the walls, knew why Jonah seemed so somber looking at that picture.

A bit of shame crept on Peter then, a little regret at his earlier snide remarks with Betty and Mary Jane. They were still true, still warranted, but Jonah was often so good at hiding his despair over his son's condition that Peter sometimes forgot that the Colonel Jupiter incident and subsequent detainment at Ravencroft left its marks on the old man.

Peter glanced behind him, back to the doorway. No doubt the prior trio discussed something with Jonah that sparked this latest depression.

"Parker," Jonah said, voice abrupt, setting down the picture frame as Peter turned to him, startled. His eyes gained focus and coherence and glanced down at Peter' bag. "You got pictures for me, I'm assuming?"

Digging through his bag, Peter pulled out a bundle of photographs he printed on his way to the Daily Bugle this morning. "Yes, sir." He handed them to Jonah, leaning over his desk as the older hand took the photos, allowing Peter a peek at John Jameson's picture. A simple background, with John donning a space suit and looking embarrassed as the elder Jameson wrapped his arm around his shoulders, a giant smile on his face. Peter leaned back a moment later and hoped that Jonah did not catch his intrusion.

The man in question grumbled as he sorted through the stack, tossing several photos aside with a contemptuous snort. Peter would have been insulted, but he was used to it by this point. Leaving his camera on autoshoot in a stationary location was bound to produce some low quality material, something exacerbated by how much Peter moved when he fought.

"The subject was the theater fight yesterday," Peter explained as Jonah filtered through the stack. "I was a bit scared sneaking up on that, but they didn't notice; well, the criminals didn't. I'm sure Spider-Man noticed. He called me and he has that sixth sense of his."

Jonah set the pictures down, sorting them into two piles. "No doubt; that vigilante menace loves the attention, I'm sure. Thinks his misguided heroics are going to earn him the unadulterated love and affection of the city."

Shrugging, Peter said nothing. There was no point in trying to disabuse him of that notion. Peter was incapable of imagining a person more stubborn and intractable than J. Jonah Jameson, something made worse by the fact that Jonah loved to dig his heels in the ground and refuse to budge on any position that impassioned him. Even if it angered Peter, he had to suppress that fervor. So he reined in any irritation he held and continued listening to Jameson, even as he remembered Aunt May's earlier reassurances.

The man's condemnation was not finished. "But he's wrong." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, no longer defined by hard edges and harsher tones. The scowl softened and his eyes dropped to his desk. "He'll never be a true hero, so long as he insists on these antics, as long as he brings trouble to this city." Jonah looked at the framed photo on his desk. "So long as people remember individuals like my son and remember his sacrifice and his tragedy."

Anger , unbidden, swelled in Peter's gut. His politeness and his uncertainty which he used to harbour his unease fled him as he recalled Aunt May's words once more. Perhaps it was just the long frustration of dealing with Jonah's slander and libel, maybe it was just a reflection of the doubt he felt over Spider-Man. But whatever it was, it burned bright in Peter's mind. "And why _isn't _he a hero? Just because he makes mistakes, just because he wears a mask?"

Peter didn't want to be loud. He didn't want to get so worked up. Jonah's opinions were well known to Peter by this point and he weathered them with a certain exasperated resignation. Never accepted them, but tolerated them.

But he lost control, and as Jonah looked up in surprise, Peter hoped that the rest of the Daily Bugle staff did not hear him through the walls of the office. He felt his face burn with a sudden influx of shame and embarrassment. Jonah was aggravating, but he did not deserve that outburst. He did not deserve Peter's anger for simply expressing his opinion.

It was with a bit of meekness when Peter met Jonah's eyes again. A small amount of panic started swelling his head, twisting his thoughts. He didn't just forfeit his job, did he? He could see his pictures to other papers, but he did not possess the same connections that he did here, and he wasn't sure they would pay as much, and he didn't know that if Jonah rejected his pictures if he would be able to financially support their household before Aunt May finished her book, and—

Jonah did not look angry. Still surprised, maybe a bit wary, but not angry. None of his normal irritation and impatience clouded his features. Much needed calm settled on Peter and he breathed deeply, his racing heart slowing. "I'm sorry, sir," Peter managed a few seconds later, lowering his gaze, focusing on the back of John Jameson's picture.

A chair creaked and Peter found himself tensing as Jonah walked out from behind his desk and stood in front of Peter, looking down at him. His Spider-Sense didn't tingle. No hostile intent, not ever of the lowest caliber.

"I forgot that the wall-crawler is a hero to you," Jonah said, voice soft. He stood very still.

Peter mustered his courage, reminding himself that he faced down greater dangers than an uncomfortable social situation, and looked up to Jonah. The man stared back, but his eyes seemed distant. Almost like he was looking at something else.

"Spider-Man is a hero to the city," Peter insisted, voice rising to its normal level. "He's far from perfect, but that doesn't change all the good he's done. Nothing anyone can say or do can erase that."

Though that claim wasn't specifically directed to him, Jonah nonetheless flinched, but held his ground, his gaze gaining weight. He stared at Peter, his face blank, as if considering him for the first time. "Perhaps he will be a hero one day," he said, walking back behind his desk and reclined in his chair, once more focusing on his picture.

Peter straightened, recalling his desperation earlier that morning, his desire to be better. "What would Spider-Man have to do to improve himself?"

A quick glance, and Jonah grunted and rifled through a desk drawer, pulling out a folder filled with forms and a pen. "Foswell and Lee informed me that the weapons trade at the theater is a symptom of greater movement in the criminal community. New forces trying to fill the the vacuum Lincoln and the Goblin left behind." He took out a form and filled it out, signing it and passing it to Peter. "If Spider-Man can defuse the incoming crisis I would personally thank him."

He paused for a moment and looked back up at Peter. "And Parker? Remember that while people hate masks, they can learn to trust a face." He turned to his computer and waved at Peter, the gesture dismissive. "Now get your check from Ms. Brant. I've got work to do."

A bit surprised and thoughtful, Peter left the office, closing the door gently behind him. He barely turned his head to Betty's desk before he felt someone tap his shoulder.

Stiffening, Peter controlled his immediate urge to respond violently, remembering how well that turned out for Harry after he returned from his European trip. Checking over his shoulder, Peter found Ned Lee standing by the doorway, a nervous smile on his face.

"Hello Peter," he said and glanced at the office, face softening. "Everything go all right? I thought I might have heard something…"

"Everything went fine," Peter said, a bit too quickly, but Ned did not pry. In fact, he looked desperate for that answer.

"Good, good," Ned said, before sighing and looking forlornly at the door. "Me and Robbie were consulting him about a story involving Ravencroft and, well, you know."

Peter nodded, slowly, and tried to ignore the new stab of guilt and shame. "I'll see you later, Ned," Peter said. He walked away, barely talking as he received his check from Betty, too busy thinking about Jonah's words.

Once out of the building and on the street, Peter began looking for a place to change, leaving a message for Aunt May that he was certain he would arrive home no earlier than 6:00 PM. Once he put away his phone and dismissed another alleyway, he remembered another message, one that he simply slipped into his pocket out of annoyance and apathy.

Peter pulled it out, unfolded it, and felt his heart stop as he read it.

_Peter Parker,_

_I need to meet with you about Spider-Man. I know that you don't know me, but me and him have knowledge of each other and I need to contact him. He's proven elusive and I've been uncertain on how to approach him. I'll make certain that your time and effort is well-rewarded._

_Thank you,_

_Felicia Hardy_

* * *

Author's Note:

Not the most exciting chapter, but it sets up _Educational Obligations_ main themes and motifs, as well as paving the road for future character development. Next chapter will be much more action-oriented and build on the overarching plot established in the first chapter.


End file.
